


The Door Beneath the Sand

by Princ3squ3



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26422276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princ3squ3/pseuds/Princ3squ3
Summary: This is just for fun/practice. Don't read if you know me irl (you know who you are).There is a door beneath the sand that should never be opened. Of course someone opens it, because there'd be no story otherwise.
Kudos: 1





	The Door Beneath the Sand

“In the desert is a door, it is said. A door that always has been, and always will be. It looks a humble thing, built of nothing more than the clay and mud.”

“Our home is made of clay!” A small boy of about six squealed, swinging his arm around to point at the nearest wall. His arm collided with the forehead of the girl beside him, and she shrieked.

“Ow,” she whined, rubbing her head and glaring at the boy, her twin.

“It was an accident,” their mother, Shena, said, ending the fight before it could begin. To her son, she added, “But even so, you need to apologize.”

“Sorry,” the boy said, showing remorse for but a moment before mischief returned to his eyes.

The girl rolled her eyes before returning her attention to her mother and her story.

“But wasn’t it heavy?” she asked. “Whoever made it was silly. They should’ve used reeds.”

“That’s because it wasn’t meant to be opened,” Shena said.

“But-”

“Let me finish, and then you’ll understand why it’s made of clay, and not reeds.”

The girl huffed as her brother added, “Yeah, I wanna hear the rest of the story!”

Shena cleared her throat and closed her eyes, trying to call to memory the countless times she’d heard her own mother tell the story. She let herself sink back into that solemn aura and captivating rhythm, and tried to channel it. Though she knew she lacked the talent of a true Storyteller, her children didn’t. Not yet, at least.

“This door lies beneath the sand, beneath the bones, beneath the tears and blood and rubble and dust of centuries.”

“Oh, so the sand is too heavy for reeds!”

“Bones and blood!?”

Her kids really did know how to ruin the drama of a thing. She sighed and continued.

“To seek it is folly, as it will only appear before one chosen.” And it’d be below an awful lot of sand, she added to herself. “However, to seek the treasure dormant within is the greatest folly of all.”

Her son tugged at her linen dress, again squealing, “Bones and _blood_!?”

“Treasure?” her daughter’s eyes lit up. “What kind of treasure? Was it gold? Or was it scrolls? Like the ones in the capital!”

A few moons ago, their family had made a small fortune when the king put out a sudden and significant order for papyrus. They’d been able to travel to the capital for the first time since the children had been born, and Shena often swore to her husband that the kids must have chiseled off a small sliver of the chaos and cacophony and carried it home in their hearts.

“Or dates!” her son screamed. It wasn’t difficult to guess which part of the city he’d been most enraptured by.

“No one knows,” she said, perhaps a bit too harshly. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed again. “Please, just let me finish, and then you can ask all the questions you want.”

Her son clasped his hands over his mouth. Her daughter frowned and scrunched up her nose in that cute way she always did when she was concentrating.

“To create an account of every rumor surrounding the treasure would be like trying to number the grains of sand in the desert — it cannot be done. However, what every tale agrees upon is this: that a curse must surely follow. A curse not only upon the fool, but upon all of humanity.

It is said that when the door is opened, the world will tremble, and the past will walk again.”

“But how does the pas-”

“You couldn’t just let me end on a dramatic note, could you.”


End file.
